Reges et Reginas carta
by argonite
Summary: District 7's Paper King against the Paper Queen. Allies from the initial bloodbath; adversaries once the last enemy falls. The whole of Panem has seen it coming. Levi and Mikasa are ready to die. One-shot. (The Hunger Games AU)


**Nota: **This work is the outcome of a hastily put-together contribution for Tumblr's RivaMikaweek. Quality is the last thing you should expect out of it. Set in The Hunger Games universe.

**Edited: **10/20/2013 (minor mistakes, added footnotes)

More notes at the end of the fic.

* * *

**REGES ET REGINAS CARTA**  
paper kings and paper queens  
(The 104th Hunger Games)

It takes the body minutes to writhe beneath the blade, convulsing of its own accord like the last traces of a struggle. The girl is never one to go down without a fight–and even now, as murky red dribbles down her chin and stains the immaculate white of her hoodie, the fact remains evident. She'll die with her hands clawing against the blade–die with her face set in raw malice as she wilts underneath the sunlight. The flaxen-haired tribute makes a last ditch effort to spit on the boy in front of her, but her mouth can do nothing more but gurgle above tainted steel. In turn, he watches her through heavy-lidded eyes, his expression as blasé as ever (as if watching another tribute fall to their demise doesn't move him in the slightest).

Blood splatters everywhere (on _the ground, their hands, his face_), but her assailant doesn't withdraw the sword–not until the poor girl falls deathly still, and drops to the ground in a kneel.

Somewhere in Panem, the girl's father grieves this loss with convicted remorse. The rest of the district mourns along with him, but for entirely different reasons.

District 1's remaining contender has fallen, and along with her, their chance at prestige and extra rations on the dinner table. On the ground lay Annie Leonhardt (fifteen; exceptional; _ruthless_), brutally slaughtered and soaked in her own blood. All ten of her fingers are missing; and left behind are sorry red stumps that stop half an inch away from her knuckles. Her hair comes undone from pale fingers (_her murderer's_) which jerk her head up by the scalp. The finishing blow is a stab–clean through the nape and pierced past her throat. It's a messy maneuver, but a relentless one at that. (Proof of just how heartless her killer is in battle…especially when high off of hatred and vendetta).

Bloody as it is, it gets the job done; the cannon fire that resonates throughout the arena is testament to this.

Only two contenders remain standing.

Mikasa Ackerman withdraws her blade with finality. Blots of red, shades deeper than her scarf, are peppered across her face. The aforementioned token billows in the breeze of the meadow; the cool wind displacing the ebony halos of their hair, and the loose material of his cravat. (It's too fair an afternoon to die, even if the arena is but a glorified slaughterhouse for sacrificial lambs like them.) The girl doesn't look at her ally–keeps her cold gaze tethered to the dead girl on the ground–because it's all too clear what the nation expects of them next.

District 7 has this year's games in the bag. Pretty soon, food will be on the plates of every underprivileged household in the district (theirs included). Tesserae will no longer strike the devil's deal with the younger ones–at least for a little while. Life in the mills will not be as unbearable as before. Celebrations will commence; gratitude overflowing. Feasts will be in order…

But so will mourning. Because in the end, it's all just a pyrrhic victory, really (for him, for her, for everyone else). Sadly, they can't both make it out of this alive.

The 104th Hunger Games might be drawing to a close–but in reality, it's only just begun.

Levi Rivaille and Mikasa Ackerman are the last two tributes standing. Both hail from the same district. Both are monsters in the arena. The whole of Panem has predicted this turnabout from the get-go, starting from the moment these two icy contenders have scored twelves in their respective training sessions. Their performance in the games undeniably lives up to the Gamemakers' expectations, and all throughout the course of the event, wagers have been cast leaning towards their favors.

But now the bets have taken an awful turn. Completely at par, the nation can only watch in anticipation as they wait for these forces to clash–to tear each other apart. Either way, their fanatics in the Capitol could care less about who makes it out alive. The Paper King and Paper Queen of District seven aren't as fragile as their titles convey. It's a match randomly made in efficiency–a formidable tandem in all fronts (from aesthetics, to charm, to battle skill). It's no surprise how they've captured the hearts of Capitol citizens, and their inevitable face-off leaves their fans eager to find out whose will proves weaker.

(_Who has more of a heart, and who doesn't._)

"The alliance is off," Mikasa says simply. It's only then that she gets the nerve to look at him, straight in the eyes. The 'fair paper queen' of District 7 regrets it moments after, because she falters under his gaze in a millisecond. It would be such a shame to drain the life out of his handsome features, even if she did ache to mar it with a punch once.

"Yes. It is." Levi nods curtly. The young man's tone is grim; his grip on the hilt of his sword tightens. He doesn't shed away from the stoic mask, however (contrary to what the rest of his body language screams). It might be the boy's trademark expression, but throughout the course of the games, Mikasa has learned to see through it to some extent.

She would have been a master at deciphering him had they been given more time. It's such a shame that she might never be able to.

Levi's eyes are bare of weakness, but something deep within them betrays this. There's a slight swirl of hesitation in the dark of his gaze, but accompanying this is fear that's unrivalled in intensity (_fear that he might win to her; fear that he might lose to her; fear of the consequences of both_). Fear drowns his irises in supersaturated amounts, and Mikasa's eyes reflect the same thing back at him. It's frightening how effortlessly they can manage to mirror each other.

(_"Mirroring is a sign of attraction," Levi can almost hear the words in Hanji Zoe's knowing tone. Cheeky grin in place, it's the kind of thing that she would have said to him–annoying enough that he'd want to scrub it off her face with a dishrag. That, and punch her glasses in for being such an insufferable meddler. _Someone who might not get the chance to poke her nose into his affairs anymore…)

If Levi wins, would Eren work up the nerve to punch him? To beat him senseless?

(_He'd let him._)

If Mikasa wins, would she regret what she's done? Would she fall prey to madness, or would she carry on living the way she had before the games? Would she claim his cravat–_miss him_?

He'd want to keep her scarf if ever. Not as a war spoil, but as a ghost over his shoulder to remind himself that she'd been real (beautiful, defiant–_alive_) at one point in his life.

The young man snaps out of his reverie, breaks free from all the questions and would-be scenarios that whir past him and around him. It's useless worrying about the outcome–either way one of them will inevitably end up dead. His heart clenches at the thought, but there's a reason why he's made it this far into the games. (And the games will never stop, nor change, on their terms.)

Levi sheds away his fears like snakeskin, and steps in to a state of apathy. He's past the point of caring now…and soon enough she will be, too. His body shifts gears to an offensive. The two tributes are mere steps away from each other, clearly within striking distance, but they both know this isn't the right time to settle things. (Not yet. Just a little while longer.)

Funny how the last lapse of silence between them is the only one free of tension. It's calm as it whips through them–light and laced with acceptance.

The thin line of Levi's mouth is set in a frown. He glances away from her steel-colored eyes to the sword on her right hand. It's a bloody mess of a weapon, and he winces at the thought of dying by its hand. An axe would have been more fitting in its stead, he thinks all of a sudden. He always did like the day she swings the tool and chops lumber at the mills.

The boy motions his chin towards the blade. "Your sword is absolutely filthy. I hope you don't intend to kill me with that."

Mikasa follows his gaze down her arm and traces the tip of the blade. "Of course not."

She's gotten rid of it, too. The fear. The hesitation. It's evident in her empty appraisal. Her voice is even, having all but discarded the camaraderie they've built up within the past weeks. (She likes to think that she's gotten rid of it completely, but that would be the greatest lie she's told herself today.) "That would have done you a great disservice."

Levi lets a small smirk grace his features. He looks up at her, eyes lightly taunting his former comrade. "I'd very much die at the hands of your scarf, but that shit's gotten filthier since the bloodbath."

"I'd wash it for you if I have the time… But then again, that would be putting on too much effort," Mikasa comments, catching on to the light, albeit morbid, conversation. This is probably the last time they'll ever get to talk, and Levi is thoughtful enough to make it a civil one. "Would you prefer anything else?"

"One last kiss would be nice."

His expression changes for a millisecond, grows soft for a moment before reverting back to its stoic façade. It is meant to be a joke, but he quickly regrets it moments after the words have been laid out before her.

Mikasa doesn't say anything. She smiles just a fraction, and draws the edge of her sword to his throat. The movement is slow, and they both know within themselves that it's just an empty threat–the gesture all for show. Levi does the same, but points the tip of his blade square against her heart. It hovers centimetres away from the fabric of her jacket, but somehow the girl can feel the chill it resonates all the same.

"How about you, Mikasa? Do have any last requests?"

For adversaries who are pointing their blades at each other, the looks they exchange hardly bear a trace of hostility. It's friendly, even. Sardonically so. A subtle "fuck you" to the president. To the Gamemakers. To everything cruel that Panem has endured thus far.

"Keep my scarf," she says. Levi smiles genuinely at that (the first, and maybe last time, people see it). It's a simple closed-lip uturn, but it's a smile that reaches his eyes nonetheless. "And make sure Eren eats as much as he can once you come back. Take care of him. And Armin. And Hannes–if he doesn't drown from liquor one of these days."

"Noted…" he trails off, and adds a hesitant afterthought. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too." She retracts the sword from his proximity. "We probably would have gotten along better in different circumstances."

"I couldn't agree more, Mikasa." Levi steps away from the girl and withdraws his sword.

All of a sudden it's clear that they're past the point of no return now. Last requests have been exchanged, weapons have been aimed. Despite the remaining inkling of hesitation, they'll have to kill each other sooner or later. Both tributes are ready for this moment. They've been ready to die since their names have been reaped from the glass bowls on that sweltering morning in the town square. They've been ready to go against each other since the train ride to the Capitol–been ready to let each other go two days ago, after sharing a kiss in the treetops a stone's throw away from the Careers' camp.

"What do you say about a fifty second head start?" Levi offers. "That'll buy us enough time to hide."

The boy then gives her the other sword he keeps. Mikasa's empty hand catches it without missing a beat. The bloody blade on her right clatters to the floor. On impulse, she wipes her filthy palm against the side of her pants. (_He's grown on her more than she can hope to accept._)

Mikasa fixes him with one last look before nodding. She turns on her heel, and the scarf around her neck sways to the abrupt motion. "Let's start the count now, shall we?"

Levi nods, turns his back on her, too, and begins the sequence with a clear voice. Soon enough they'll be counting down to fifty in their heads. On their own. _Against each other_. "One."

He starts running in the opposite direction, boots crunching against the grass. He'll be using the forest trees to his advantage, but then again so will she.

"Two," Mikasa calls back, her form hastily retreating. She's a mere sprint away from reaching the right edge of the meadow.

"Three," he says. Louder. Almost within the left forest's proximity.

"Four," she says, loud enough for him to hear.

"Five," they all but shout in unison. The rest of the countdown is lost on the other's ears as the two tributes disappear into the trees.

The end has finally begun.

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**Nota:**

*Made 'Rivaille' Levi's surname because of obvious reasons.  
*As for ages, Levi is eighteen while Mikasa is fifteen. It would be impossible to make Levi older-at the same time still eligible to participate in the games-so the age gap in this fic is smaller compared to canon.  
*Nevermind Annie's district placement, it would have been better if she hailed from somewhere else. Only realized it hours after posting this fic on Tumblr! (District 2, anyone? Because of the disrict's significance in the original series, not to mention their trade?)

This hasn't been one-hundred percent thought through. If I ever get the nerve to make a multi-chapter fic of this, I would change a lot of things (like district placements and story progression). I'd also come to the conclusion of who dies and who doesn't. Either way, it's a meaningless one-shot (and a writing exercise at that), hence the general crapiness.

Might consider taking this down in the future. Nevertheless, here's to hoping that it somewhat did this pair justice.  
Hope you guys enjoyed this. Reviews and input would be wonderful!

-(ar)gonite


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